Rags To Witches Read online

  In all my years of knowing and working with Gloria, I’d never known her to tolerate a whole lot of chaos. She’d rearrange her side of the tiki bar at least once a night to keep it tidy and efficient and sometimes encroach into my space. For the most part, I didn’t care about her tidying tendencies. Seeing the state of her home ramped up my concern to another level.

  Some crumpled tissues, a half-empty glass of water, and cracker crumbs littered the floor beside the living room couch. A crocheted blanket hung halfway off the cushions.

  “Something’s wrong,” Wesley declared, picking up the multicolored throw. “She always gives me a hard time if I use it and don’t fold it up and place it right on the edge here.”

  We inspected every room, not sure of what we should be looking for. The kitchen reflected the same level of disarray with boxes of food opened and left out and dishes in the sink. My shoe stuck to something tacky on the floor that hadn’t been wiped up after being spilled.

  “I don’t like this.” Wesley left me, his shoes pounding down the hallway. “Her bed’s a mess,” he called out. “And there are clothes lying all over the place.”

  I passed the bathroom with a towel rumpled on the tile floor. Picking it up, it didn’t feel damp. “I don’t think she’s been here in a few hours. When’s the last time you talked to her?”

  Wesley met me in the hall, his jaw tense with stress. “I talked to her yesterday morning and asked if she was feeling any better. It’s not like her to be sick for an entire week. Or come down with anything. Out of the two of us, she was the kid who never missed a day of school.” He leaned against the wall and dialed her number on his phone.

  Taking advantage of his moment of distraction, I entered her bedroom to see if there was anything a girlfriend might notice that a brother would miss. The drawer from her bedside table was pulled open, the contents from inside strewn about in front of it. Whatever she was looking for, she dug for it in a hurry. A collection of pens and pencils rested underneath a small lamp. I searched underneath some magazines and under the bed to see if I could find whatever she might have been writing on. No notebook or pad. Not even a scrap of paper where I could attempt the old pencil trick to shade indentations to find out what she’d been writing.

  More crumpled tissues were scattered about on the floor despite the trash can being right next to the bed. I pulled the cover and tangled sheets back out of desperation to find any indication as to what had happened to Gloria. A worn stuffed rabbit wearing a green hat and holding what might have been the felt remnants of a faded carrot rolled into view.

  With great care, I lifted it up and placed it on the wrinkled pillow. If she needed her bunny with her while she slept, it might mean there was something bothering her. My instincts screamed at me that I already knew what that something was, even without talking to her.

  “Still no answer.” Wesley joined me in the bedroom. “But her phone does ring, which means she has it on. So, she knows we’re looking for her.” He leaned his hands on the wooden dresser and stared into the mirror in front of him. In frustration, he swiped everything she had on top of the dresser onto the floor, shouting expletives.

  I waited for his outburst to pass and for his breathing to even out before attempting to speak. “That’s not going to help, but I hope it felt good. Maybe you need to hold the bunny for a while for some comfort.”

  “What bunny?” he asked, turning around and perching on the edge of the dresser.

  I pointed out the well-worn rabbit I’d set up on the pillow. “Mr. Hippity Hop over there.”

  Wesley spotted the stuffed animal and his anger vanished. He picked up the toy and held it in his hands. “You found Benjamin. Or at least that’s what she named him after those British animal tales from that author with the weird name. I guess the rabbit in the books wore a green hat, so when she was given this, she named it after the character.”

  “That’s sweet. I had a stuffed sheep that was white, but I called it Baa Baa Black Sheep after the lullaby.” Feeling nostalgic, I tucked away the desire to ask Granny Jo if my old snuggle buddy was somewhere inside the big house.

  “If she had Ben, then she must have been feeling pretty awful. He’s usually somewhere in a box in her closet.” Wesley put the rabbit back where I’d placed it. “Why didn’t she tell me she wasn’t doing well when I called her?”

  “Are you saying you never came over the entire week she was sick?” I asked.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “I did bring her some takeout food, like a big container of egg drop soup and some fried rice from her favorite Chinese place. But I didn’t do much more than meet her at the door.” The springs of the mattress squeaked as Wesley slumped down on the bed. “I’m a horrible brother.”

  Choosing to comfort him rather than to ruin the moment rallying him into a frenzy to find Gloria, I sat down next to him and patted his thigh. “No, you’re not. You’re incredibly busy because you work too much. You take as many shifts as you can at Ellie’s Diner during the day, and then you work your butt off as a barback at the Tiki.”

  He hung his head. “You’re right. I’m so exhausted, and I take it for granted that Gloria always has her life together since mine isn’t.”

  I tapped his leg with a little more oomph. “Yeah, buddy, you’re not in your early twenties anymore. Working all hours of the day and drinking part of your paychecks until late in the night isn’t exactly healthy. Nor gonna attract a good woman.”

  He smirked. “I do okay.”

  “But wouldn’t you like to find your own Azalea like Harrison did?” I pushed, standing up and maneuvering around a pile of clothes to get to the bathroom.

  “Hey, are we going to make this about my love life or about discovering where Glo’s gone?” Wesley deflected, following me.

  I picked up a prescription bottle. “This says to take right before going to bed. It wasn’t filled that long ago, but there aren’t that many pills left in here.” Shaking the bottle, only a few white circles rattled around.

  Her brother held onto the edge of the orange plastic and read the directions. “She hates these. Says it makes her sleepwalk and eat. I mean, maybe that’s why things are so out of order in here. Because she’s been taking the sleeping pills. But if that’s the case, why did she feel she needed them?”

  An alarming thought dawned on me. “She wouldn’t drive after she took one, would she?”

  Wesley tossed the bottle into the small sink and ran out of the master bedroom. My feet dragged a little as I trailed behind him, my fear becoming more palpable. What had Gloria done that had her acting so erratic? And if she’d run away, how far had she made it?

  “Her car’s gone.” Wesley shouted after checking the garage. “I can only hope she wasn’t under the influence of sleeping pills when she drove. But now I think we should alert the police.”

  The same thought had occurred to me too, but if the local authorities got involved, it would block my chance to find out the truth. After Azalea’s reveal of how she ended up in the right place to find Harrison because of Gloria, I could only conclude the worst until I talked with my friend.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Wes.” I put my hand over his phone to stop him from dialing.

  “What do you mean? My sister is missing, and we need help tracking her down. The local police or county sheriffs can run her license plate and help.” He pushed my hand off his.

  Desperate to stop him, I blurted out the only thing I could think of. “It’s possible Gloria is somehow involved with Harrison’s stabbing. And that could be the reason things don’t feel right and she’s not here.”

  He stopped touching the face of his phone. “What are you talking about?”

  I held up my hands to get him to listen, telling him what Azalea told me. “If she wasn’t directly involved, then she must have seen something. But that doesn’t make sense either because why wouldn’t she tell the authorities so the person who did it could be arrested for trying to hurt
or even kill the husband of her best friend?”

  Wesley backed away from me. “Nothing you’re saying makes sense. My sister wouldn’t hurt Harrison.”

  “I didn’t say that she did necessarily,” I countered in a weak defense.

  “Oh, yes, you are.” He stomped toward the front door. “Either you’re saying my sister was in cahoots with someone who stabbed my best friend and she’s covering for that person or you’re saying she actually did the deed herself!” His voice echoed off the walls of the small house. “Either way, you’re wrong.”

  I ran up behind him and slammed the front door shut, blocking his exit. “I hope I am, Wes. I really do. But until we’re sure what’s going on with her, I think it’s risky to get law enforcement involved.”

  “You’re making some huge leaps there, Rue. I know you fancy yourself some slick investigator, but you’re not. You’re a scrapheap scrounger, not a detective.” He pushed me back and pulled the door open. “Stick to what you’re good at and stay away from my sister.” Taking one step out the door, he turned around with his eyes cast down. “In fact, don’t come near either of us.”

  I couldn’t watch as he pulled away, but I heard the squeal of his tires as he gunned his car down the road. My stomach dropped, and a wave of nausea hit me. I’d just insulted one of my oldest friends and implied his sister might have tried to murder his best friend. I’d gone off of nothing but my gut instinct and the slight mystery of how Gloria knew where Harrison had been stabbed. If I were him, I’d hate me, too, right about now.

  Taking the key out of the nearby bowl, I left the house in the same condition we’d found it in and locked the door on my way out. Not wanting to leave the key where someone might find it, I pocketed it. My legs dragged like they were sunk into cement shoes as I walked to my truck. The curtain in the window across the street ruffled, and the same nosy woman from before stared back at me.

  If I didn’t doubt everything I’d just said, I might have gone over to ask her when the last time was she saw her neighbor coming or going. But since I’d put my foot so far into it with Wesley, the wind in my sails to find all the puzzle pieces and put them together died.

  Giving up on my quest to find Gloria, I drove home and ignored the waves from my uncle, bypassing the barn and heading straight for my little cottage. With all of my clothes still on, I flopped into bed and pulled the quilt over my head, blocking out the rest of the world and hiding for as long as I could.

  “Go away,” I moaned, irritated at the incessant pounding that repeated over and over. Half asleep, I sat up and checked for the time.

  It was almost half past four, and since the entire room was bathed in darkness, it had to be in the early morning. I’d slept through the rest of the day and might have made it into the morning with the first full night’s rest in a long time if it weren’t for the wild pounding on my front door.

  “If it’s Luke, I’ll kill him. Even if he’s here to rub my feet,” I muttered as I turned on the light and walked down the hallway. With a yawn, I scratched the back of my neck and waddled with slow steps to torture whoever it was still banging. “I’ll kill him even though he’s technically already dead.”

  Prepared to chew my boyfriend a new one for not calling first, I yanked the door open. “What do you think you’re—”

  “I’m sorry, Ruby Mae. You need to let me in, and I’ll tell you everything.” A very disheveled Gloria pushed past me and entered my house, unwilling to wait for my invitation or response.

  Chapter Fourteen

  We sat opposite each other, Gloria occupying the middle of my couch. I pulled my legs up underneath me as I settled into the overstuffed side chair. I waited for her to say something. Anything to explain her actions that had no plausible explanations.

  She brushed her hair behind her ear, which didn’t do much to help the tangled mess on her head except to get it out of her face. “I don’t suppose you have anything I could eat?”

  I expected a story about taking too many sleeping pills and finding herself in some strange scenario. A tiny part of me thought she might come right out and make a bold confession that she was the one who wielded the knife. Asking for food did not top the list of things I thought she’d might say.

  “I don’t think I have much, but we can see what’s in my fridge.” I abandoned the soft cushions and shuffled into my kitchen, still unclear as to what was truly going on. Opening the refrigerator, I found very few things to offer. “I’ve been eating a lot up at the big house, so there’s not much to choose from. I’ve got about one and a half spears of pickles swimming in juice. And there are two eggs left in this carton.”

  “Do you mind if I use those?” Her voice came from right beside my left shoulder, and I flinched away from her. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning,” she muttered in a low voice, her eyes downcast at the floor.

  In a matter of minutes, I sat on top of a nearby counter, watching Gloria push the yellow goo around in a pan with a wooden utensil. Her hands shook as the liquid turned to small lumps of scrambled egg, and I wanted to ask how she’d gotten to this condition and why. But the girl deserved to refuel a little before being hit by a barrage of questions.

  I slid off the counter and found a plate for her meager meal. “Here.” The toaster dinged, and the last piece of bread popped up golden brown. “I think there’s a little bit of butter left in the door of the fridge.”

  She scraped a knife across the toast over and over until the butter spread in a thin layer. Tearing it down the middle instead of cutting it in half, she used the bread to push the finished eggs onto the fork and dug in.

  With loud noises of consumption, the small plate of food disappeared in a few bites. Figuring she would be done in less time if I didn’t ask her questions, I distracted myself by filling two glasses with water and setting one down in front of her. My finger tapped on the counter, counting down the seconds until I could unleash my utter bewilderment on her.

  Gloria dropped her fork with a clatter and took a couple of swallows of water. She wiped her mouth off with the back of her hand and gave me her full attention. “Thank you for that.”

  “Holy hexes, Gloria!” I yelled, unable to contain the explosion of frustration. “You’ve been MIA for who knows how long, and you’re sitting there thanking me for a little bit of food when what you should be doing is telling me what in Hades is going on?” The volume of my outburst caused her to shrink away from me, and a little guilt seeped into my gut. I reached out to touch her arm, speaking in a more reasonable voice, “Seriously. What’s going on?”

  She pulled away from my touch and picked up the glass of water, walking back to the couch. “I’ve been trying to figure that out for days now. One second, everything in my world was normal. Except for having to support my best friend whose husband got stabbed in the middle of the reception on their wedding night.”

  “It’s been utterly surreal lately,” I agreed, occupying the same seat as before, staying close to her. “Your brother and I came over to your house to check on you, and it was an absolute mess.”

  She snorted once and leaned back against the cushions. Her finger pointed at her chest. “Then it matches what I feel in here. Ever since Crystal took me home, I’ve felt like something’s not right. Like I was one of the eggs I just cooked, and somebody cracked me against something hard and all my insides got scrambled.”

  I’d assumed she’d gotten sick in some way with her extreme reaction after the ritual at the coven meeting. “I guess it wasn’t bad chicken salad then?”

  “That’s what I thought at first. Well, I also thought talking to Azalea’s parents made things worse. Every word her father said felt like it sliced into me.” She rubbed the spot over her heart. “And then after I got home, I gave it twenty-four hours for whatever it was to work through my system. Except it got worse instead of better. And then there were the hallucinations every time I tried to get a little rest.”

  I gripped the arm of the chair, my
entire being on edge. “What hallucinations? I’ll admit, we found the almost empty bottle of sleeping pills. And Benjamin.”

  At the mention of her stuffed animal, the haunted expression she wore eased with a slight grin before the shadowed pain returned. “I was willing to try anything and everything to make it all go stop. Benjamin used to be able to chase away the monsters.” She dashed a tear away with a shaky hand. “Too bad this time, I think I’m the one who’s a monster.”

  I got up to grab a box of tissues while she fell apart on my couch. Despite my need to find out what she meant by those words, Gloria was still my friend who needed help. The least I could do was give her my patience. And some tissues she could snot on.

  Setting the box on the coffee table in front of her, I took a seat right next to her on the couch and put my arm around her shoulders. “Sometimes if we tell someone else about what’s scaring us, the monsters will go away.” I heard my father’s voice in my words, and I silently thanked him for his affectionate way of taking care of me all by himself while I grew up.

  Gloria blew her nose and crumpled up the used tissue. “I don’t think it will change things. I kept trying to deny what I saw in here,” she said, tapping the side of her head. “But it’s all too real when I close my eyes. And it fills in the blanks like I’m the missing puzzle piece.” Her voice wavered as she kept talking.

  Exchanging the used tissue for a new one, I turned to face her. “Then let me see if I can guess what you’re avoiding telling me. I talked to Harrison and Azalea yesterday.”

  Startled out of her misery, Gloria grabbed my hands. “Then he’s okay?”

  I rubbed my thumbs in circles on her skin, trying to chase away her nervous tremors. “He’s recovering. Back to joking around. Azalea’s hovering over him like he could disappear in front of her eyes.”